


Let's sit crooked and talk straight

by hopefor46



Category: Pod Save America (RPF)
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Light Bondage, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Misunderstandings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-21
Updated: 2018-04-21
Packaged: 2019-04-20 07:39:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14256141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hopefor46/pseuds/hopefor46
Summary: Here’s the thing. I could cut this, or I could just… roll the dice… --Lovett or Leave It outtake 2/16/18Jon hadn't thought about proposing to Ronan before, but he's thinking about it now.





	Let's sit crooked and talk straight

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Emmlan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emmlan/gifts).



Midway through dinner, when conversation was at a lull, Ronan leaned over and whispered in Jon’s ear and he practically choked on his polenta.

His eyes went wide and he coughed for a second, reflexively bringing his napkin up to his mouth. Hanna’s head went up from her dinner, her eyebrows a question mark, till Ronan thumped him on the back and she went back to her meal.

Jon turned to look at Ronan in surprise, but Ronan just beamed like he’d suggested they split a tiramisu later. He comfortably picked up the conversation threads Jon was too distracted to manage, letting Hanna tell him about their latest wedding planning disaster, sharing Tommy’s frustrated sighs. How did he do it? Ronan always moved through the world like there was a path carved out just for him.

Dinner seemed to drag on and on, till Jon threw his napkin down onto the table decisively.

“No dessert?!” Tommy cried in mock outrage.

“Trying to get in tour shape,” Jon lied. His mind kept underlining Ronan’s whispered words: _I brought what we talked about._

Ronan flipped through radio stations as they drove home.

“So wedding planning seems… consuming,” Jon said, trying to sound casual.

“It ebbs and flows, is what I’m told,” Ronan said. “Tommy could help her out more.”

“I don’t think he cares that much about it.”

“Oh, he does,” Ronan said. “There’s just a lot of heteronormative coding to overcome. They could’ve just hired someone to plan the whole thing.”

“Hmmm,” Jon said uncomprehending.

“Or they could’ve eloped,” Ronan said. “Well, it’ll be fun to see everybody together again.” Jon cut the engine off and they got out into his garage.

When he came back in from taking Pundit out, Ronan had settled into one of his chairs with a drink and a _New Yorker._  Jon came over and kissed the top of his head, feeling suddenly tentative about the whole thing.

Then Ronan looked up at him with a wicked smile and said, “I had to take them in carryon.”

“You what.”

“Can you imagine if I’d have gotten caught,” Ronan said, his voice skating low like he was trying not to be overheard, even though Pundit was their only audience. Jon brought his hand to the back of his neck, stroking with his thumb. “What it would be.”

“Alert TMZ! Crusader actually up to no good!” He leaned down and kissed Ronan, lightly at first, and then pulled him in for longer. It hurt his back but he felt he couldn’t stop.

“So you do want to see them?” Ronan said, finally breaking him off.

“Well, I  _guess_ ,” Jon said, already hard in his sweatpants, seeing how eager he was. He followed Ronan into his bedroom, watched him rifle through his suitcase in its usual place. At last he held something up triumphantly. Jon came over to look, but Ronan kept holding them above his head.

“They came in a box, but I figured they would travel better like this.” They were surprisingly utilitarian, could almost be mistaken for some kind of exercise device, were it not for the sturdy chain that connected the padded nylon handcuffs to each other.

“So you can’t return them now.”

Ronan raised an eyebrow. “Guess I’m locked in.”

“You’re the worst,” Jon said as he kissed Ronan’s cheek, letting his tongue trace down his jaw and onto his neck. He bit him lightly under his collarbone, felt him shudder and press forward in response.

Jon took him by the shoulders and backed him into the edge of the bed, finally snatching the cuffs from one hand. He turned them over looking for the key and found it on one side, slender and delightful. Ronan sat watching him.  

“They come recommended,” he said, practically taunting.

“From _whom_? Also take your shirt off before we do this.” Ronan smirked but his hands flew to the cuffs and Jon felt a jolt go through his whole body. Ronan _wanted_ this. He’d brought it up a few weeks ago on the phone, and Jon agreed to try it, less wary when he heard how Ronan’s breath came faster when Jon bluffed about how it would go.

His headboard didn’t actually have a place, so Jon settled on cuffing Ronan to the leg of the guest nightstand. Even spread diagonally across the bed, laid out for the taking, he looked unaccountably comfortable, smiling up at Jon as he tugged off his pants.

“This gonna hold?” Ronan said, experimentally rattling the chain, hearing something roll around in the nightstand drawer.

“Guess we’ll find out.”

“Why don’t you take _your_ shirt off.”

“ _Bossy_ ,” Jon called, but he obligingly pulled it over his head, let his sweatpants follow onto the floor.

“I don’t feel tortured yet,” Ronan called. He crawled up low over Ronan so he could feel how turned on he was, rocking his hips into him just to work out a sigh. Jon bent quickly over Ronan’s mouth, stroking his arm, then let his mouth drop to his nipples, licking and biting and feeling Ronan’s chest quiver up and into his touch, scratching his sides first gently, then bearing his nails in a little more.

“ _God_ ,” Ronan said when Jon reached the hem of his navy-blue briefs. Jon rubbed his cheek against Ronan’s cock through the fabric. and heard him yank on the cuffs. “More. Please.”

“What if I just stayed like this,” Jon heard himself saying as if in a trance, pulling his head up. “Made you get off like this.” Ronan shook so hard one of his legs reflexively came up.

“ _Please_ , again.”

“Make you come all over yourself,” Jon said, letting his hands wander around the back of Ronan’s briefs, slipping his fingertips under to cup his ass, hear him gasp.

“I… Jesus. Whatever you want,” Ronan breathed out. He was standing at full attention as Jon pulled the briefs off, pink and inviting, already leaking. Jon sucked in the head with one hand on Ronan’s thigh to feel how he was shaking. It was so much hotter than Jon thought it would be. He tilted his head up to see Ronan watching him, his mouth falling open to cry out as his hips jerked, trying to thrust into Jon’s mouth. Jon jerked his head away, letting the head of Ronan’s cock graze his lips on the way up, and heard Ronan whine in response.

“Greedy,” Jon said, already losing his resolve to torture him for as long as possible. He pressed down on Ronan’s hips hard. “You just don’t want to stay down, do you.” He fit his mouth all the way down till he was pressed into his hair, nearly gagging, letting his tongue play against his shaft. Then he pulled off again and stood up, his own dick so hard it was almost out of his boxers, deciding to shed his last layer.

He grabbed the lube and opened up Ronan slowly, taking breaks to mouth at his cock. Whenever Ronan’s hips came up Jon pulled his fingers out till Ronan begged him to come back in, _just a little, please_. Jon rewarded him by stroking his fingers in and curving them, delicious torture that made tears leak out of Ronan’s eyes. In pleasure he was still elegant, exquisite in the way he was losing control.

He waited till he knew Ronan was close before he straddled him and pushed in. “You’re not going to last,” he whispered in Ronan’s ear, knowing he was really talking to himself.

The slight resistance provided by Ronan’s arms was intoxicating. Ronan tried to wrap his legs around Jon’s back before letting them flop heavily back onto the bed, breathless and babbling. Jon gritted his teeth and angled his hips the right way, reaching down between them, till Ronan cried out and came all over himself.

Jon stroked him through it, suddenly conscious of his own sweat and Ronan’s, under something spicy and piney. He leaned in to kiss him softly as he thrust into him, wanting this to last, knowing that it wouldn’t. Gripped Ronan’s hips like that could keep him steady, so close to the edge.

“Come for me,” Ronan said, breathless and low. “Want to feel it.” Jon gave in, falling, falling, pushing as deep as he could one more time, unable to keep his eyes open. He lay over Ronan feeling almost dizzy with it.

“Can’t believe,” he mumbled into Ronan’s neck, “never tried that with cuffs,” barely recovering the ability to speak.

“Mmmm,” Ronan agreed.

Jon rolled off him carefully and, legs still a little shaky, located the key on the nightstand and carefully opened the cuffs. Ronan pulled his wrists back fast, stretching and rolling them out. Jon sat on the bed and reached for each one in turn. On his right wrist there was a little red divot, the start of a line.

“No, you’re hurt,” he said, rubbing his thumb over the mark. He’d tried to be careful, Jon would swear, but…

Ronan leaned up on one elbow to pull back his arm, studying his wrist carefully. Flushed in his cheeks and solemn in concentration, he looked like a painting with a long, hidden history, his pale neat chest rising out of the bed.

He shook it out again. “Eh, it doesn’t bother me.”

“I know I just--”

Ronan pulled him down by the back of his neck with a sharp kiss. “I liked it. Besides, it was my idea.” He scooted over and pulled Jon to him, wrapping his arm around him so they were face to face.

Later as he drifted off, Ronan’s head tucked under his chin, he thought about what Ronan might do next. Jon knew he’d probably like whatever it was.

 

 

Too soon Ronan’s phone went off and Jon could see the sun peeking around the blinds. After he shut it off he reached for Jon like he did it every morning. Jon had noticed that sometimes Ronan would set two alarms so that they could have a few more stolen moments together, maybe getting off, maybe just curled around each other. He was just organized like that, and as Ronan’s blond head disappeared under the covers, Jon was grateful.

After Ronan’s Uber left, Jon dawdled over his morning Diet Coke, thinking about him. These days when he had to fly out, Jon would no longer half-jokingly plead with him to stay, the way he used to do every time they parted. They’d been doing the distance thing for a while, and luckily their schedules now made it easier than ever for them to get together--but Jon still missed him, and the urgency of those early days. Jon used to pick Ronan up at the airport and take him straight to bed, could barely wait to get his hands on him. They would have sex lazily, wantonly in the bright sun while other visitors to L.A. tried to make the best of the daylight, dozing off together as if they had all the time in the world. His physical presence made Jon feverish even now, when he was just as likely to find Ronan making himself at home in Jon’s house with the key Jon had given him. Jon still felt that spark at the base of his spine when he saw him. It was chemistry, sure, but there was so much more.

They were lucky to have what they had, but lately Jon had been thinking more about their future. It was probably his cofounders’ fault for swamping the office in discussions of their upcoming nuptials, but Jon was the age, so it would’ve happened anyway. Ronan’s and his lives were already deeply intertwined, out to their extended families, and they both preferred it that way, but marriage was another level of commitment. And Ronan’s feelings about the institution were complex, though he was delighted enough to celebrate their relatives and friends when the opportunity arose.

Jon had come close a few times to opening up the conversation, but, if he had to be honest with himself, he was a coward. Maybe he should sit down with his bros and ask them how they knew-- _really_ knew--that it was time to ask, that their significant others would say yes. Then he would just have to figure out a way to… do that.

Jon was making the bed when he spotted the handcuff key winking at him across the room. Ronan must have packed the cuffs without the most important accessory. He stood in place for a minute, letting the full-body warmth rush over him pleasantly, like the sun coming out from behind a cloud. Then he looked at the key and had an idea.

Before he picked up his lunch, he stopped in at the jewelry store wedged between the bodega and the slowly dying Radio Shack on Wilshire with a fairly simple question. He walked out with the handcuff key warm in his pocket, now emblazoned with a simple: _J &R_. Ronan didn’t appreciate a big fuss, but he would laugh when Jon gave it to him later, and wherever he went, he could carry it like a promise. Besides, it only cost ten dollars.

 

 

“Let’s spin it again!” Jon called out from onstage at the Improv, eyes bright, anticipating the digital rattle of the Rant Wheel.

“It has landed… on public proposals,” he said, feeling a rush of relief that the last word would be his at the end of an already strong show.

“I’m not touching this one,” Amina said. Rhea and June turned to each other and giggled.  

“The other day I was stuck in traffic on Sunset--I know, so L.A.--and the source of the traffic turned out to be a big crowd of people surrounding a happy couple. And they had balloons! and they were kissing! And I’m happy for you, whoever you are.” Scattered laughs.

“All right, sure, it was cute. But since when is it so important that your private life _goes viral_? Do you seriously need everyone else to appreciate every single thing you’re doing? I mean, just sit with that for a second.” The audience was a little quieter than he’d prefer. “Look, I made a life decision on my own! Now quick, validate me before I lose my nerve!” A little more laughter from the crowd.

“As if we don’t already dole out brownie points right and left for people who get married, like it’s the last word on adulthood. You want to be a real adult, try getting a puppy by yourself.” He spotted Tommy and Favs in the front row elbowing each other and shaking with delight, but this was entirely normal.

“Listen, call me old-fashioned--and I _won’t_ answer,” he goes on. “I just think you should be free to do this, you know, intimately. You don’t need a peanut gallery. You don’t need a stadium to acknowledge you! You’re better than that! You can make big life choices!”

“Yes, I’ve seen _your_ viral video. Sure, I’ll like it on Facebook. But don’t give me the power to make decisions for you, because I _will_ take it.” The roar of approval buoyed him into the end of his rant.

“And honestly,you don’t need any of that. All you really need is to turn to the person next to you and say, hey, I love you, you make my life better. Can we just get married already?”

Jon smugly accepted the whoops of laughter from the crowd. Some people were even standing up, Tommy and Favs among them. “So that’s our show!” he called out, hoping the mikes would pick up this extra adulation. Elijah winked at him from the corner of the front row and put his phone back in his pocket.

“Make sure you clip that last rant,” Jon told him when they got backstage. “It’s gonna do great on social. People are tired of that demonstrative garbage.”

“You got it, boss.”

“Don’t call me boss.” Tommy and Favs materialized at his side, both clapping him on the back.

“Sure you want to keep that bit in?” Tommy asked, his face unexpectedly soft.

“It killed,” Jon said. “It’s gonna kill on Twitter this weekend. You’ll see.”

“Long as you’re feeling good,” Tommy said. “I always said you have to do the necessary groundwork beforehand.” That was weird, considering Jon did neither more nor less prep than usual for the show, but he let it slide. Tommy was probably getting confused with another segment of the show.

“I always do.”

“Proud of you buddy,” Tommy said, pulling him in suddenly for a hug. Clearly his upcoming nuptials were making him sappy.

“Big show,” Favs beamed next to him. “One for the starred file.”

“All in a week’s work,” Jon shrugged, but he was pleased. Normally they only came back here to roast him about his crowd work. It was satisfying to feel like the tour hadn’t dampened his ability to put on a great show here at home.

 

 

Monday afternoon as usual he, Tanya and Travis huddled in Little Marco, Pundit lazing at their feet, to go over the weekend metrics.

“Exciting stuff this week,” Tanya began. “This episode is on pace to become the most downloaded Lovett or Leave It ever.”

“Onward and upward,” Jon joked, swinging a rally fist. His coworkers beamed at each other.

“And the proposal clip is going gangbusters on Instagram _and_ Twitter.”

“Great call on that by the way!” Travis put in sunnily.

“The Insta clip is already over 10,000 views, and it’s got a thousand retweets on Twitter, although some of the replies are…”

“Am I being ratioed?”

“Nope.”

“Okay, then I don’t wanna know. I can see the good ones with the quality filter.”

“ _And,_  we got a call from a CBS producer about a half hour ago wanting to know if you would tape a segment for them about it.” Tanya paused. “It’s with This Morning, so you would, unfortunately, have to go to New--”

“Sure, why not,” Jon agreed. “Get me one step closer to Oprah!” And, he thought warmly, he’ll get to see Ronan sooner than he thought. Tanya probably realized he would say yes for that reason more than for the company’s sake. Well, two birds, one stone.

“Great, we’ll book you out there tomorrow,” Tanya replied absently, staring at her laptop. Suddenly she closed the lid and shot a mischievous look at Travis. “So, what did Ronan say?” Could she read his thoughts? It was almost uncanny.

“What he say about what?”

“After he heard the show!”

“Oh, I don’t think he’s listened yet. Sometimes he doesn’t get to it till Tuesday.”

“Can’t believe you’re being so chill about this,” put in Travis. “You’re just gonna let him wait to hear it?”

“Why…” Jon said with a flicker of irritation.

Tanya looked a little alarmed. “Because you proposed to him live on your show?”

“Haaaaa,” Jon said, although he wasn’t sure which side of the joke he was on. “Do jokes count these days? I am _told_ it’s not that easy.”

“Hmmmm,” Tanya said, with the tone she used when Favs considered retweeting one of those Democratic conspiracy accounts.

“Besides, if it’s about my opinion of those spectacles, he already knows.”

“Hmmmmmmm,” Tanya said again, studying him closely.

“It’s not like I even mentioned him,” Jon said, suddenly feeling nervous.

“Uh, you did,” Travis said.

“I didn’t.”

“Hey Tommy?” Tanya called out. “Come in here a second?” Tommy appeared at the doorway of Little Marco with a _New Yorker_ in his hand. “You heard Jon mention Ronan at Friday’s show, right?”

“Uh, yeah, I thought that was the point,” Tommy said with a goofy smile, before retreating back to his desk.

“You guys are pulling my leg,” Jon retorted, but his palms were sweaty.

Tanya’s eyebrows shot up. “Okaaaaay, let’s go to the tape,” she said, sliding her laptop towards the other two and calling up iTunes.

“Honestly,you don’t need any of that,” Jon heard himself say again. “All you really need is to turn to the person next to you and say, Ronan, I love you, you make my life better. Can we just get married already?”

Tanya hit stop before the rest of the applause rolled in. Jon could feel her and Travis’s eyes trained on him, expectantly.

_Shit._

“Shit,” Jon said.

“When did you say he normally listened to it?”

“Uh…” Jon’s mouth felt dry and his palms itchy. He was going to see Ronan tomorrow. Maybe he could get to him before he heard the episode and explain everything--that it was just an accident when he blurted out what was on his mind, that he didn’t mean to do it, that… “Can we yank it?”

Tanya’s mouth made the thin line it occasionally did when she had to remind them of their contractual responsibilities. “We can recut the episode, but it’s doing really well. Plus I already told CBS you would do the sit-down.”  

“Can they…” Jon swallowed. “Not play that part?” Maybe Ronan would put it on while he was cleaning and accidentally miss it. Or Jon would catch him listening and compel him to turn it off because he hated the sound of his voice. These things were totally plausible.

“We can try,” Tanya said. “I’ll just call that a personnel request.”

“Gotcha,” Jon said. “Are we done?” He got up from his chair, a little unsteady

“Don’t forget to pack your maroon pants,” Tanya called. That felt inappropriate since Jon clearly owned more than one pair of pants. He was even considering wearing the gray ones, but just since she said that, maroon it would be.

Anything to avoid the hard drumbeat of his heart. _I asked Ronan to marry me. I asked Ronan to marry me...by accident??_

“You’re insane, do you know that?” was Tommy’s reaction when Lovett cornered him in the office and explained the situation.

“That’s not helping,” Jon snapped.

“I mean, it is characteristic of you.”

“What does that even _mean_?” Jon expected Tommy to be a calming presence, but maybe that was a bad call.

“You know, sometimes you are a little,” Tommy swallowed hard, “impulsive. It took me months to get up the nerve to ask Hanna. And you just… did it.”

Jon dropped his head so he wouldn’t make eye contact. “It’s just, I’d been thinking about it--”

“ _How much_ had you been thinking about it?”

“I don’t know, just,” Lovett shifted uncomfortably against the wall, “recently. Like yesterday, a lot.”

“Would you have done it at the show?”

“No! I mean… probably not. Definitely not like that.” He raised his eyes to Tommy, who had his arms crossed, concentrating.

“Look,” he said slowly, “the best thing you can do is go to New York and tell him that you’ve been thinking about it. He may be mad but he won’t be mean about it.”

“What if he says no?”

“Don’t think about that right now. Go get your man.”

“Tommy.” He patted his arm tentatively. “Am I gonna hate it? Being engaged?”

Tommy’s face softened. “If it’s the right person, then it’ll feel right.”

 

 

Normally, hailing a cab in New York on the way to Ronan’s made Jon prickle with excitement. He’d washed off most of his TV makeup but he still felt his face burning. He wondered how long he he had till Ronan came home.

Jon let himself into the apartment and tried to settle down with his email, but every one he opened sat blank till he closed it again. He put on an audio book, but after a few minutes he’d completely lost the plot. He decided to look through his phone and delete old photos, which felt nice and mindless.

Less than an hour later he heard Ronan’s keys in the lock. As if on cue, Jon’s palms started to sweat. He jumped off the couch, trying to look like he had been casually hanging out and comfortable instead of waiting for his personal firing squad.

“Here he is!” Ronan beamed as he leaned in for a kiss. “I like your hair like that.”

“Thanks, uh, the CBS crew did something to it. I should’ve asked them what.”

“How long since you got in? Did you get to see Gayle?”

“She wasn’t there,” Jon said, happy for a diversion. “Took about two hours, but I’m sure most of that is going to end up in the trash. How’s the piece coming along?” Ronan had been working on his Silicon Valley expose for months, had even sent bits of it to Jon for help with explaining its more technical aspects. He always liked hearing about Ronan’s work.

“Eh, writing is impossible. Mostly today it was just boring-impossible and not impossible-impossible. So, let’s talk about your show!” Jon’s stomach dropped.

“The taping? Oh, it was fine,” he said absently, examining the loose lace on one of his shoes. “John Dickerson clearly disagreed with me, but he was _very_ civil about it.”

“Not that show. I mean last Saturday’s!” Jon froze.

“Yeah, uh, did you have any feedback?”

“Did you? Maybe something you’d like to tell me about?” Ronan fidgeted with his shirt sleeve.

“Uh,” Jon said nervously, “did I take Paul Ryan’s name in vain again--”

“Alexa, play Lovett or Leave It, please.” Jon felt so nauseated he forgot to make fun of Ronan for saying please to his Sonos speaker.

And there it was again, his own traitorous voice. “All you really need is to turn to the person next to you and say, Ronan, I love you, you make my life better. Can we just get married already?” Ronan had turned away so Jon couldn’t see his face. It was worse than he thought if he couldn’t even look Lovett in the eye.

Jon’s heart sank.

“Alexa, _stop,_ ” he cried out.

Ronan leaned against the doorframe, faux casually. “So Jon? What was that?”

Jon’s cheeks burned. He thought maybe they could just jump over that part like any other verbal disaster he made. Judging by Ronan’s furrowed brow, he couldn’t have been more wrong.

“Was this a joke?”

“No, I…”

“So it was serious.” Ronan tilted his head as if to say: That’s the best you could come up with? It was worse than if he had just said no to begin with.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Jon said, hanging his head.

“Are you gonna--”

“No,” Jon said over the lump in his throat. “Sorry. Leaving.” Groped for the handle of his suitcase, thankfully still sitting in the front hall next to the coat closet.

As he closed the door Jon thought he heard a “Wait…” but he refused to let himself turn around. He knew he’d messed up. He didn’t have to stay around to hear the worst thing in the world from the love of his life.

For as he half-jogged to the elevator and stabbed wildly at the button, Lovett felt a tide of realization, a terrible wave, sweep over him: that’s just what Ronan was.

Damn the cliches, but it was true. When they first met, Jon felt like every date, hell, every interaction was taking place on the edge of a cliff. Like Ronan might walk out of his life as casually as he’d sauntered in, the day Favs took him around to the speechwriting department to meet everyone. Jon had tried to hold himself back, to be less himself, but it wasn’t any use, so he just hoped their end wouldn’t come too publicly, that Ronan would let him down easy.

It wasn’t until that time they went to James and Abra’s wedding--Favs and Tommy on one side, Ronan on the other--that Jon thought maybe his new boyfriend wasn’t sweeping the room for something better. During the first dance Ronan had taken his hand, so casually, in front of all their friends, and even though Jon didn’t really like to hold hands, the gesture startled him. His heart sped up. It was the first wedding they’d been to together, and when Ronan pressed his cheek to his on the dance floor, Jon felt a bolt of love so strong he looked around, like: _Did any of you see that?_

Jon didn’t believe in soulmates, necessarily, but he could never stomach the idea of leaving Ronan, even when they were 6,000 miles apart. He must have known all along that no one would half measure up, that his head buzzing with insecurities only found peace with him. Maybe he just didn’t want to _admit_ it until it was too late.

 _Where is this fucking elevator?_ Sick with a swimming head, Jon slammed open the fire door and started taking the stairs, not the most practical choice with a rolling suitcase, but who cared when his worst fear was coming true.

20th floor. _My subconscious must have known this was gonna happen. Shit._

19\. _Who did I think I was, anyway? Asking him to marry me. He could have anyone. Anyone he wanted._

18\. _Can’t believe I just ran out of his apartment like an idiot kid. Wait, yes I can._

17\. _Left my winter coat in there. Shit. Ugh, why am I even thinking about a coat at a time like this?_

16\. _Maybe I’ll catch a chill and then I won’t have to go back to L.A. and tell everyone that it’s over. Oh God. They all love Ronan. More than me, maybe._

15\. _How am I ever gonna go onstage again? I’m such a hypocrite, such a_ public _hypocrite._

By 14 he wasn’t capable of a thought, just the flickering image of Ronan in bed the last time he was in L.A., blond hair spread out on his pillow. Jon didn’t even think twice of it at the time, just reached up and stroked his cheek gently. He’d never wake up to him in his bed again. It would just be him and Pundit, and then Pundit would die, and Jon would die too of a broken heart.

13\. So _what have you done, Jon Lovett. You weren’t satisfied with what you had, you let your big mouth run, and now look at you. Dragging your suitcase down the stairs of someone else’s apartment building._

He slumped on the stairs. In a moment of absentmindness, he’d undone years of taking care of Ronan--not the first guy he’d ever said _I love you_ to, but the only one who’d deserved it. Ronan deserved so much better than the end of a punchline, the sidebar to a rant. He deserved a room full of flowers, maybe, or a weekend getaway to a mountain lookout. A sentimental gesture, one he would always remember, tell his children about.

Jon saw with painful clarity that he’d had one chance to get it right, and he’d fucked it up completely.

What he would have to do is will his legs to get down the rest of the stairs. Go outside and hail a cab. Change his flight and head back to California, tell everyone it was over, and try to avoid the temptation to walk into the Pacific.

Somewhere below him a door creaked open. Great, another party to his misery. Maybe if he hugged the wall enough they wouldn’t see him.

“Jon? Jon, where are you?” Ronan called. He didn’t sound mad, he sounded--worried? Jon cleared his throat and got to his feet, unsteady. Crossed the stair and peeked over the railing to find Ronan’s open, yearning face staring up at him.

“Hi,” he said stupidly. “I’m sorry, I’ll just--”

“Wait, I’ll come up,” Ronan said, scrambling up the stairs. He settled onto the concrete nimbly, patting Jon’s calf as he went. “Sit with me for a sec.” Jon sat. Ronan would be so gentle about it, let him down easy. Almost like he knew this day was going to come, when Jon would have to go out into the world alone. He’d probably never even tell anyone that Jon had tears welling up in his eyes as he sat on the cold stair.

“I’m so sorry,” Jon mumbled, unable to look at him. Ronan had a hand on his knee, was brushing his kneecap slowly, but regularly. “I never in--I didn’t--it just came out.”

“Were you really going to walk down all 20 flights of stairs instead of talking about it?”

“I think I’ve said enough,” Jon said miserably. Now that he wasn’t breathing as heavy he felt his eyes prickling with the start of tears. God, this was just so much. Not since he was in college and he stood outside that guy’s window…

“You sure?”

“Anyway, I get how you feel,” he continued. “We don’t have to talk about it.”

“Jon--”

“Just--forget it,” Jon said. “Now that it’s out there, I can’t take it back, and I know it’s not what you want. So--you’re--I’m sorry.”

“Jon,” Ronan said softly. “Why can’t we talk about it?” Jon felt sick to his stomach, but it was what he deserved, he guessed, having to relive the worst moment of his adult life.

“Your--your face back there,” Jon said, hewing dangerously close to a sob. “You looked backed into a corner. It was clear you didn’t--I just--anyway.”

Ronan’s eyes softened with pity. “Did you honestly think I was going to say no?”

For once in his life, Jon was speechless. He looked at Ronan, who seemed--calm, but with something intense in his expression.

“I was just surprised, is all,” Ronan said, grabbing Jon’s right hand with his. “You know I always listen to the shows. You give your opinion of a million things--”

“A whole lotta nonsense,” Jon muttered.

“Which you happen to be good and even hilarious at,” Ronan cut in. “At first I thought it was all part of your plan, in fact.”

“My plan to what?”

“To ask you to marry me, you silly goose.” All of Jon’s instincts were telling him to bolt, quickly, before it all went wrong again. But Ronan was warm against him, and he didn’t seem mad, so maybe…

“I… What plan?”

“Like, maybe you put it on the show, and then… you’d ask me again in person. With champagne and flowers and all.”

Jon swallowed hard. Ronan’s vision of Jon was so much nobler than he knew himself to be. “I, uh… no. Um.”

“Yeah, I sort of figured it had been an accident after you freaked out upstairs.” Ronan still hadn’t moved away.

“It was on my mind, and I guess… it came out.” Jon knew he still had to ask one thing, even if it left him the loneliest man in Manhattan. “Were you… thinking about it?”

" _Thinking_ about it. Jon, I even had a plan.”

“You did?”

“Sure. I figured after the election in 2016, we could really sit down and talk about when we wanted to. And then, uh, you know how that went,” Ronan ducked his head a little and continued. “I didn’t want you to think it was--an overreaction, or that I was trying to make you feel better. You were just so down.”

Jon didn’t like to think about those weeks between the election and when he, Favs and Tommy shook hands over the Crooked incorporation papers. He’d been worse than Ronan described--grumpy, sluggish, snapping at everyone. He’d floated outrageous plans--he’d write a memoir! Restart stand-up! Or maybe he’d move to Alaska like he always wanted! He’d come to New York before the Farrow Thanksgiving and he and Ronan had had a big fight about which train to take. And still Ronan had nestled him into bed every night and petted his hair until he fell asleep, never making Jon feel like this was some sort of chore.

Ronan went on, “Then you started the company, and I was pursuing this reporting job that got a little away from me--”

“Mister Pulitzer,” Jon said, unable in his confusion not to point out how well Ronan had done, how proud he was. Ronan lifted their hands together and let them fall gently back on his lap. All along, Ronan had been patient with him, and Jon had never even known.

 _We’re two goofs who we deserve each other,_  Jon thought to himself, and felt another tear threatening to escape.

“What I’m saying is--” Ronan pulled at his collar a little, a nervous habit. “We’re two goofs who  deserve each other.”

“Ronan,” Jon croaked, letting his head fall on his shoulder. Ronan immediately wrapped his arm around Jon and they sat like that in the stairwell for a moment, just breathing.

“We don’t have to talk about it tonight,” Ronan said, and Jon could feel the vibrations of his voice through his shoulder. “If you need some time to think about it, that’s okay. But just so you know, I’d marry you if you asked at half court at a Knicks game surrounded by Knickettes--”

“--That can’t possibly be their real name--” Jon interrupted, feeling his heart swell--

“--or at the Grove outside the Abercrombie and Fitch that always has the shirtless models out, or at any national event, stage or parade of your choosing.”

Jon drew in a breath and let it out quickly. He could make this right. All he has to do is follow his own advice.

“Ronan,” he said, hearing his voice quiver. “I have loved you since you worked for my ex-boss, we had to wear suits to work and you gave me your number at the Correspondents’ Dinner. I want to be there for every single moment of your life, because you make every moment better. Can we just get married already?”

“Yes,” Ronan rumbled, catching Jon’s chin for a kiss, the way he had done a thousand times. The way Jon hoped he would every day from now on.

Ronan broke the kiss to add, “And if you ask me tomorrow, it’ll be yes again.” He stood up and held out his hand. “Come on, let’s go home, open up some prosecco and play Breath of the Wild. We can tell everyone tomorrow.” Something about the gesture jogged Jon’s memory.

“One sec,” he said, swaying to his feet and pulling out his wallet. “I don’t have a ring, I expect you’d want to pick out your own anyhow--”

“--”You would be correct,” Ronan said, but he was grinning.

“--But I did get you this.” He took Ronan’s outstretched hand, dropped the key in and folded his fingers over it.

When Ronan pulled his hand back he studied his palm carefully. Then he clenched his fist and burst out laughing, and it rang through the whole stairwell.

“You did this for _me?_ ”

“You left it in California,” Jon said, matching Ronan in a laugh filled with relief, burbling out of him, unstoppable.

“I did, didn’t I.”

“This way no one else gets to lock me up,” Jon said, looking at him through his eyelashes.

“It's like you planned that,” Ronan said, reeling him in for a kiss. Jon felt his heart skip a beat. Was it going to be like this every day? Wow, and people thought he was insufferable _before_.

They went back up to Ronan’s apartment and as the door closed behind them, Jon felt the air suddenly charged with something momentous. As usual, he felt the burning desire to break it up with jokes.

“So, like, I kind of descended on you,” he rushed, “and if you need to keep working or if you have plans for the night or--” and then he couldn’t hear himself speak at all because Ronan’s mouth was on his, one hand running through his hair, the other hand rolling knuckles into the small of his back where he always got that cramp, that made Jon want to arch up and cry out.

“Jon,” Ronan said breathlessly, in between a series of kisses. “Jon, Jon, Jon. What if I wanted to celebrate?”

“That’s… fine?” Jon said in a voice somewhat higher than usual. “We could… dinner? Later?” Ronan was grabbing onto his hips and keeping him close, which made it difficult to concentrate.

“Or we could do it later,” Ronan said, separating them briefly but pulling Jon by the hand toward his bedroom.

Sitting up in bed the next morning, still disheveled and sweaty, Ronan and Jon reached for their phones and started making a list of who they had to call (parents), WhatsApp (the Crooked team, Ronan’s birthday besties) and who could find out on Twitter (everyone else). Before they started dialing, Ronan put his hand over Jon’s phone with a sudden smirk. “I actually have an idea--now tell me if you hate it…”

 

 

“Hello to the Improv! We’ve got a great show for you tonight,” Jon said beaming, his hip jutted out just so, concealing the fact that he was a little nervous as to how he was going to pull this off. “We’ve got a new game I devised, and later on, we’ll be joined by figure skater Adam Rippon, maybe you’ve heard of him--” The warm cheer of the crowd buoyed him forward.

“But first. What a week!” He waited for the ding. “Now, was anyone at last week’s show?” No cheers, although Favs, Corinne and Elijah were all nodding, knowing the joke would work better without audio. “It was a big week for me, a surprise to me and to someone else here--I got engaged.” He could feel his cheeks pinkening as the audience cheered, some people even standing up to clap for him. This wasn’t tough. “And now, without further ado, please welcome return guest Ronan Farrow!”

 

 

 

EPILOGUE

It was, by Jon Favreau’s reckoning, a very fine wedding. He and Emily hung back from the throng on the dance floor, twisting absently to The Cure’s “Just Like Heaven.” He could just see the grooms’ heads bopping and swaying through the thick crowd. They hadn’t been more than a foot or two apart since Madeleine Albright commanded Lovett to stomp on the ceremonial glass that ensured their bond would never be broken.

Jon understood. He would’ve tried to explain it to Lovett beforehand, but sometimes it’s better to be surprised by the feeling.

"I saw your key project come to life." As part of a wedding present, Emily had scouted flea markets all over L.A. to find enough antique keys to make all the guests' place cards, threaded through with ribbons. He was particularly adamant that there be keys. "What was that about?"

“Beats me. Some kind of inside joke about how they got engaged,” Emily said, raising her eyebrows. It was good for them to have some secrets, even from their best friends. “I’m just sorry I missed Dan’s toast.”

“How are you feeling, sweetie?”

Emily rolled her eyes. “It’s not like I constantly have to puke, but being on the verge isn’t much better. My mom says in a few months it’ll be better.”

“That’s a relief. Thanks for driving, by the way.”

“Who knew the Farrow compound was so well hidden? I love it here, though,” she said. “No wonder Ronan suggested it.” She clinked her club soda against his champagne flute.

“So,” Jon said, turning to her with a shy smile, “how soon should we tell Lovett he’s gonna be a godfather?”

“It can wait till after the midterms,” she said. “He’ll need some new material for the Rant Wheel.”

“You’re always right,” he said, wrapping his arms around her waist as they swayed to the music.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to [Emmlan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emmlan) for this most excellent prompt (below) which gave me pretty much the whole arc of the piece. Title comes from a proverb quoted on the podcast My Favorite Murder. The wedding date referenced in the piece is an uninformed speculation off [this photo](https://twitter.com/jonlovett/status/921475336587456512) and whose hand Jon was holding. Finally, thanks to the LOLI SoCal attendees who captured that outtake quoted at the top. 
> 
> Prompt: _Lovett accidentally proposes during a rant wheel segment on LOLI. Does he a) force the audience to delete any and all video/audio to make sure Ronan (who is in NYC) never knows about it b) play it off as a joke when he mentions it to him or c) realises he actually really wants that but doesn’t think he can have it with his young, hot LFDR boyf. Or d) all of the above._


End file.
